Page 34 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

Sonny blinks a few times as if waking up.

“Huh?”

“When it comes to hurricanes, I am scared of tornadoes.”

Sonny clears his throat and steps aside. “Oh, right. But aren’t hurricanes like tornadoes?”

With another step back, I have some space to breathe. I’m a little lightheaded. “No, not really. Hurricanes can have tornadoes, but they’re not the same. Tornadoes always seemed uber dangerous and random with no warning. So scary. I feel that there are hurricane warnings, and you can prepare and make a plan for one. But tornadoes are just deadly, sudden, and terrifying destruction. Like the movie Twister. That movie always scared me. Jaws, too.”

“The movies you have an emotional reaction to say a lot about you,” Sonny says. “There’s a personality test there.”

“Oh yeah? What does it say about me?”

Sonny gives a slight shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. Something about your biggest fear being the terror of the unknown and darkness. I bet you plan for everything, huh? You try to avoid danger at all costs and have a plan for every eventuality. The outcomes you can’t change, you try to force to bend to your will.”

Well, that’s a little too spot on for my taste.

“I thought you were going to say it meant I watch too many movies or that Sharknado must’ve terrified me.”

“Well, pot and kettle,” Sonny points to himself and then to me. “I think we watch the right amount of movies. Also, you’ve seen Sharknado?! I thought I was the only one who liked so-bad-that-it-is-good movies!”

“Sharknado is a cinematic masterpiece!” I say.

“Ever seen it with the Rifftrax?” he asks, smiling.

“What’s a Rifftrax?”

Sonny’s face lights up. “No way can I explain that, but I think we might be pop culture kindred spirits, so I’m sure you’ll love it.”

I’m sure he’s right. Trevor could never be bothered to watch shows I enjoyed with me, or even sit through a movie. Usually, I am alone in my little references, but Sonny appears to be getting them all.

“We should plan to watch one together,” he says.

The unease that has by now become familiar hits me again. There is nothing wrong with Sonny showing interest in me. God knows I am enjoying the attention of this attractive, successful man, and my body is reacting to him like the tide to the moon. But Trevor’s text is still on my mind. He still called me “Babe.” I’m not sure what the right thing to do here is. Sure, Trevor is a shit, but I would be too if I reciprocate, right?

“Here,” I say, handing Sonny the flashlight. “The kitchen has some obstacles that might need moving if the issue is there. Can you go ahead and see if Crispi needs any help? There’s one more bathroom for me to check, and then I’ll join you.”

I don’t think Crispi needs his help, but I don’t trust myself in these dark, close quarters with Sonny. He nods and gives me a little salute as he heads down the hall.

The last bathroom to check is the one I’d hidden in earlier. It is the last door on the right, down from my childhood bedroom. A quick look, and then I’ll join Crispi and Sonny in the kitchen.

With my phone’s flashlight on, I quickly scan the room.

My phone light stops when I see something glistening in the bathtub. I walk in to have a closer look. The remains of a stained-glass ornament now lie inside the tub. It had lived on the windowsill before. Since we don’t tape or even board the frosted windows in the bathroom, no one had caught this. I am surprised the glass breaking is so loud. When I set my phone down on the porcelain tub, however, the sound reverberates, magnified by the tub. Well, that solves that mystery.

I pick out some of the larger pieces, but I’ll need to come back with a proper broom to get this cleaned up. Grabbing my phone, I move the light, scanning the floor to make sure the glass was contained in the tub.

The phone buzzes in my hand. It doesn’t hit me at first what this meant, but then it dawns on me. I freeze in my tracks. I have a signal!

The buzz is for some nonsense notification, but there it was, like a struggling heartbeat; the smallest bar is filled in. I don’t move for fear of losing it. I quickly open Trevor’s text. There is nothing new, but I want to get out a reply.

My head is spinning with all the things I want—no, need— to say, and all the things that need to be said.

Should I tell him it’s over? Tell him I know about his Puerto Rican side piece? Demand an explanation?

The bathroom door suddenly bursts open, with a loud crash and a roar. A bright light shines in my eyes. I scream, throw my hands up to shield my face, and throw my phone in the process.

My scream is followed by a fit of giggles. Crispi is laughing and slapping his knee.